


Look Sharp and Steady Into the Empty Parts of Me

by BlumenKatzen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb is blind for plot purposes, Essek is a snake both literally and metaphorically, M/M, this was just a self indulgent excuse to have Essek wear a chiton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlumenKatzen/pseuds/BlumenKatzen
Summary: "It is said that deep within the woods north of Rexxentrum there is a creature most foul, who would rend and devour foolish travellers with it’s obsidian claws and granite teeth. It is said that this creature was once a mage scorned, a brilliant mind wreathed in venomous thorns that consumed any humanity it had left. With a heart so bitter and cold one would think it had stopped beating altogether, the creature turned it’s icy gaze outwards, lashing out at it’s friends and loved ones until it had nothing but the petrified remains of it’s soul."The Medusa!Essek AU nobody asked for.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	Look Sharp and Steady Into the Empty Parts of Me

It is said that deep within the woods north of Rexxentrum there is a creature most foul, who would rend and devour foolish travellers with it’s obsidian claws and granite teeth. It is said that this creature was once a mage scorned, a brilliant mind wreathed in venomous thorns that consumed any humanity it had left. With a heart so bitter and cold one would think it had stopped beating altogether, the creature turned it’s icy gaze outwards, lashing out at it’s friends and loved ones until it had nothing but the petrified remains of it’s soul.

It was only a story, a Zemnian fable told to children to coerce them into good behaviour. After all, if you are docile, and unambitious, and if you stay out of the woods, you will be fine.

Caleb Widogast was not a child, and he did not believe in fairy tales. And if anyone dared to imply he was docile or unambitious, well, at the least they would find their eyebrows singed. 

He was not afraid of the woods, nor was his companion Veth, who was exceedingly brave no matter the endeavour. He knew better than to fear a fairy tale; what he feared was real, was persistent, was endemic. What he feared stole his sight, and he was determined to get it back. So no, he did not fear the woods, as it held the answers he sought.

Deeper and deeper they travelled, and as they traversed the loamy earth the trees grew tall and thick, the dense foliage preventing any sunlight from reaching the damp, mossy ground. They had left the path hours before, and with no sign of a trail they relied upon Caleb’s keen sense of direction to guide them north. 

Veth found no issues in her light footedness, but Caleb relied upon his familiar for sight, and found his footing uncertain, until eventually he stumbled on a protruding root, catching himself on his knees and the meat of his dirty, scratched palms. The scent of moss and soil lay heavy in his sinuses, no longer light and clean with morning freshness, but the pungent reek of decaying matter. 

Veth rushed to his side, holding his scarred forearm in an attempt to steady him, “you okay, Cay?” she asked.

Caleb sat back on his haunches, dusting his hands off on his sweat-stained tunic, “ja, I just tripped.”

Veth huffed, her concerned frown fading as she looked about at the endless woods, “what time is it?”

“Twenty two minutes past seven.” Caleb replied without a beat. 

“It’s always so weird when you do that.” she quipped fondly.

“Ah, but it is a useful trick, no?” he chuckled, his knees popping as he pushed up off the ground. 

With a practiced gesture he summoned four globules of soft amber light that cast the surrounding trees into stark contrast, and watched through the familiar on his shoulder as a few colourful insects fluttered out of the plants and bushes in pursuit of the tiny balls of false sunlight. Frumpkin reached out to bat them, but he faithfully remained on his perch. 

Veth peered in the direction they were heading, past the radius of the gently floating orbs and into the dim woods beyond, “I’m going to scout ahead and see if I can find anything, could you start setting up camp?”

Caleb’s face screwed up in concern, “we could just go together? I don’t want you getting lost.”

Veth cast him an exasperated look, “I need to piss.”

“Ah.”

“I’ll be back in a moment, just keep your lights up and I’ll find you.” she replied, dropping her bag at Caleb’s feet and patting his upper arm before silently disappearing into the shadows beyond. 

Caleb stood and watched until he could no longer see her short tanned form before letting out a deep sigh, crouching down in front of their packs and pulling out a tarp, their bedrolls, and two sets of rations. He set them out, removing any large rocks or twigs he found from the clearing before dropping down onto the larger of the two bedrolls with a grunt. He removed his coat, balling it up in place of a pillow, and removed his spellbook from its holster beneath his armpit. 

He sat cross legged with his spellbook in his lap and a small crystal bead from his components pouch in his hand. He began to mutter under his breath in deep, sonorous tones, once again performing complex and precise movements with his calloused fingers. A soft blue glow obscured his sightless eyes, echoed in the eyes of the cat on his shoulders, and with a sound like the air being drawn from a vacuum an opaque, amber dome expanded from the bead to cover Caleb and their belongings. 

He sent his orbs up above the dome so Veth could find him, then laid on his side, propped up on his elbow, and began to read over the latest spell he transcribed. He was thankful for his feline familiar, now purring gently in front of his chest, his small head propped up on Caleb’s forearm so he could read his book. Without Frumpkin, he would be locked away in the dark- he had been, for a while after escaping, until he gathered the components to summon his cat. 

He chewed on his portion of the dried beef they had brought along, it was smoky with a peppery kick, and he felt his tired body begin to unwind after a day of hiking through uneven undergrowth. 

* * *

After exactly forty-five minutes he began to grow worried at the lack of Veth’s reappearance, and fished out his copper wire, pointing it northward, “Veth, are you coming back? You can reply to this message.” 

There was no response, only the wind rustling through the leaves.

“Veth? If you cannot talk can you make a sound?”

The wind picked up, whistling between the branches, but there was no shrill voice to accompany it, and Caleb felt a cold sweat break out on the nape of his neck.

He moved with fervour, snapping his book shut and repacking their camp, cursing himself for being complacent, for not trusting his instinct. 

As he passed the opaque barrier, two packs and a cat slung onto his shoulders, it fizzled and dissolved into nothing. With only his lights and Frumpkin for sight he stumbled his way North, desperately searching, hoping for any hints of Veth’s trail. She left no trace.

“ _Veth!”_ he hissed, straining his ears. There was no reply, only the creaking of the boughs above him, and his laboured breathing as he hastened his fumbling.

A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, leaving behind an icy trail. He walked and walked, hissing her name over and over to no avail. A deep, clawing panic crawled up from his gut to his chest, squeezing his heart and lungs in it’s cold grasp, wrapping it’s talons around his neck until he could barely wheeze a breath, let alone her name. 

His thighs were burning, his lungs burning, his eyes burning, and he stumbled, but there was no one to catch his fall. He fell to the damp earth, in the hollow of a tree, and his lights winked out. 

A wretched sob burst from him.

He scrambled into a seating position, his back against the tree, and grasped his tangled hair tightly, the sharp pain grounding his panicked thoughts. 

He tugged, and he hiccupped, and he breathed. 

Frumpkin, dislodged from his perch during the fall, crawled up between Caleb’s legs and placed his paws on his chest, nudging his face against Caleb’s chin. Sensing his wizard’s discomfort he began to purr and chirp, kneading at Caleb’s woollen tunic. 

After three minutes of soothing, Caleb sighed a shaky breath and dislodged his fingers from his frayed hair, instead running them through Frumpkin’s soft fur. He buried his nose into Frumpkin’s side, feeling the texture on his cheeks, letting the familiar smell of ozone and wet fur fill his senses.

He groaned, his face still smothered, “okay, let’s be sensible about this. You and me. Teamwork.” 

He cradled Frumpkin against his chest as he stood, encouraging the cat back onto his shoulder, and began muttering an incantation. He pulled on the arcane reserves he had learned to harness, drawing on that finite well of power. He was a conduit for the leylines running deep through the earth, and as he plucked at the strings he felt something within him unlatch, a key turning in a lock, and when he channelled his familiar’s sight he saw a cacophony of faintly fluorescing colours in the distance. 

Veth was sharp, and quick, and curious. She was as dexterous and deadly with a bow as she was picking a lock with her mage hand, as furiously stubborn as Caleb could be; a perfect protégé to take under his arcane wing. 

If she was nearby he may be able to detect her magic. The twisting colours were northward; he was certain it had to be her. 

He followed them, more sure footed than ever, striding quickly to catch up. He had ten minutes, and he couldn’t lose her. 

His dancing lights illuminated a wide clearing, his familiar’s eyes drawn to the shifting colours. He was surprised by the source of the magic, a small stone cottage surrounded by statues. 

They were detailed, so incredibly lifelike, and as he drew near to one he could not resist raising a hand to touch it’s cold, smooth surface. 

It was a tiefling woman, shorter than him, with small curled horns and a bright, open smile, as if she were talking mid-sentence. 

The stone of her cheek was dimpled, and as he brought one of his lights closer he marvelled at the fine hairs chiselled there. 

He turned in awe to survey the rest of the statues, but was stopped in his tracks by a pair of familiar, stone braids. 

A dawning horror twisted within him as he rushed to the short figure. He circled her, and immediately recognised Veth, reaching for her crossbow, a look of fear on her small, round face. 

“No. No, no, no, no-“ he gasped, dropping to his knees and cradling her cold, still cheeks in his shaking hands. 

His sightless eyes darted around in their sockets, as if searching for a weakness, a flaw, a hint of soft flesh. 

He commanded Frumpkin to look up at the other statues, seeing faces of fear and rage etched into the lifeless stone. Some were brandishing swords, others staves, and he spotted a caster forming the somatic components to summon a fireball. All were poised for battle, except the tiefling girl. 

He wondered why she was not afraid. 

He heard a thump from behind him, and turned to see the cottage just as detect magic faded. 

A curtain twitched. 

“Scheisse,” he hissed, snuffing out his lights and quickly casting invisibility. 

He froze, trying to quiet his breathing as he watched the cottage for any signs of movement. After thirty seconds of stillness he slowly, silently stood up and retreated to the edge of the trees. He stepped on a twig, and cringed at the loud crack that rang through the clearing before scurrying behind a large tree. 

He took a deep breath, coat scratching against the bark of the tree, and commanded Frumpkin to return to the clearing.

He approached the cottage through his familiar, his own body sliding down against the tree trunk to sit on the floor, for fear of becoming unbalanced. 

He saw no movement, perhaps it was a trick of the eye. The cat lithely jumped up onto the windowsill, peering in. 

The interior of the cottage was dark, the furniture faintly outlined by moonlight. It was tidy and uncluttered, books artfully placed on various surfaces in a manner that appeared both casual and deliberate.

Just as he started to think that perhaps the cottage was empty he saw movement in his periphery. The front door to the cottage opened with a creak, a slim hand braced against it and a surprised, handsome face staring straight at Frumpkin. 

“Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my lovely friends over at the ETFC for proofreading and inspiring.


End file.
